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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130268">Circles in Red Curry Sauce</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceCreAMS/pseuds/KrisseyCrystal'>KrisseyCrystal (IceCreAMS)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Curry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, it wouldn't be a me story if it didn't have a LITTOL bit of fluff now come on..., midnight snacks, post-interrogation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:22:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,548</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceCreAMS/pseuds/KrisseyCrystal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Akira, Yusuke knows, is very good at shrugging.</p>
<p>(Perhaps too good.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Circles in Red Curry Sauce</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/selimbradleyisahomunculus/gifts">selimbradleyisahomunculus</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yusuke texts him at 12:02 asking if he is asleep yet, and all Ryuji can think as he stares at his screen is: <em> God, I’m glad I’m not the only one. </em></p>
<p>His thumbs fly across the keyboard, and not even a minute passes after he sends his response that another black text box pops up with a quiet chime<em>. </em>Ryuji rolls onto his back, settles a hand behind his head, and reads.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>12:03 AM &gt; <em> I must admit, I find myself concerned over our leader. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> god me 2 man. i hear u. </em> &gt; 12:03 AM<br/><em> no one walks away frm dyin ok ukno. </em> &gt; 12:04 AM<br/><em> kinda wish we culd be thr w/ him </em>&gt; 12:04 AM</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yusuke’s message pings back ten seconds later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>12:05 AM &gt; <em> Perhaps we can. </em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Despite his less-than-sterling reputation at school, Ryuji does not, in fact, make a habit of sneaking out of the apartment at night. For one, giving his mother a heart-attack over something stupid like having her wake up to get a drink of water, only to find that he’s gone and missing without any explanation isn’t worth it or cool. Two—</p>
<p>—well— </p>
<p>—Eff it. He kind of forgets what two is. </p>
<p>The point is: Akira Kurusu is the kind of person that would never ask anything of anyone. And that’s related to the initial two—one?—points. It is. Ryuji reminds himself to keep up as he pulls his hood down over his face and attempts to avoid patrolling officers or any goody-two-shoes who wouldn’t hesitate to rat out a high school kid past curfew.</p>
<p>See, Akira Kurusu would never ask anything of anyone, which means that when he’s struggling, he puts on this really cool and calm persona, acting like nothing could possibly faze him. (There’s a pun in there somewhere. Probably.) This, of course, is no different than his usual behavior and mannerisms as their Joker and Phantom Thief Chief, which makes it hard to tell when he’s having a problem. Which means that when he has people who <em>care </em>about him, there’s never any big ‘red flag’ that they ought to be there for him. Which means—and it’s not really Akira’s fault, and he’s not blaming him for this at all— </p>
<p>But it also kind of makes those same people who care about him feel like pretty shitty friends.</p>
<p>Ryuji hunches his shoulders and ducks down as he rounds the corner to a familiar street. To his shock, Yusuke’s already there, standing in front of the brown window-gridded door of Leblanc in his pajamas.</p>
<p>Is he— </p>
<p>Yep. He’s barefoot, too.</p>
<p><em> Eff. </em>Ryuji fights the urge to slam a hand over his face and scurries up to his side. “Yusuke!” he hisses. Immediately, Yusuke jumps and spins to face him. His phone is held up to his ear and there’s a faint, distant, tinny noise. “What the hell are you doing, man?!” </p>
<p>“Trying to get ahold of Akira,” Yusuke answers, pulling away the phone. His thumb taps twice against its surface, then he holds it back up to his ear. “We don’t very well have our own key to get in.”</p>
<p>“That’s—” <em> Fair, </em>Ryuji wants to say. But also: “You’re missing the point! What are you doing in your pajamas? You didn’t walk here like this, did you?”</p>
<p>“Of course not.”</p>
<p>“Thank god.”</p>
<p>“I took the—oh, hello, Akira.”</p>
<p>Ryuji fails to rein in his exasperation. He drags both hands down his face as Yusuke pleasantly babbles, “Yes, we’re right outside the café now. Mm-hmm. Right now, yes. I did just say that. Who? Ryuji, of course. Mm. Yes, we’d appreciate that; thank you. You’re very kind.”</p>
<p>A moment later, he hangs up and there’s a rapid <em>thump-thump-thump </em>from the second floor inside the café. </p>
<p>From the space in between his middle and index fingers, Ryuji glares at Yusuke. After a moment more passes and the artist’s pleasant countenance doesn’t change, his hands fall to his sides. He shoves them into his sweatpants pockets. “You know, Yusuke. You’re either the luckiest person I know or the dumbest, ‘n I can’t decide which.”</p>
<p>Yusuke blinks at him airily. “Funny,” he muses, “I was very nearly about to say the same of you.”</p>
<p>Ryuji opens his mouth at the same time the lock clicks on Leblanc’s front door and it swings open. </p>
<p>Akira’s face is pale in the shadows. It’s either an effect of the moonlight slipping in or something else, but it makes both Ryuji and Yusuke start forward. Ryuji pulls ahead and yanks back his hood as he looks Akira over from head to toe. “Hey, man. You doin’ okay?”</p>
<p>Akira blinks and then half a second later, turns away. His eyes are hard to see behind the shine of his glasses, but Ryuji’s heart squeezes tight anyway when he catches a glimpse of how red they are. His cheeks are bitten-flushed, too. Not a good sign. He sniffs and toys with a wavy black strand of his bangs. He shrugs.</p>
<p>When he finally lifts his eyes, Akira clears his throat. “What are you both doing here?”</p>
<p>Yusuke shuts the door behind them. “You ask as if you have no idea. We were concerned for you, of course.” </p>
<p>Akira’s mouth pinches into a frown. “You…why?”</p>
<p>“Why?” Ryuji sputters. “Because you almost <em>died</em>, man! To a lot of people, you <em>did </em>die! That’s—a lot! And no offense to anyone else, but I kinda wasn’t cool with just leaving it all at a, ‘Glad you’re okay even after you got all beat up and drugged.’ Y’know?”</p>
<p>The silence after his outburst is awkward and it reminds Ryuji that there are people trying to sleep somewhere out there in the world around them and it’s mind-boggling to him that they even can. He throws out both hands at his sides. “I mean, c’mon, man. I know we had all this planned out and you weren’t ever gonna really die, but there’s no way you threw yourself into that, had a lot of shit happen to you, and <em> didn’t </em>expect to step out of it with a rough night or two.”</p>
<p>Akira clears his throat again. He stuffs both of his hands in the pockets of his sleep pants. “I’m fine.”</p>
<p>Why does Ryuji feel as if he’s bashing his head against a wall? “Are you sure? Because you can always talk to us if you need. Or if you want.” When Akira still doesn’t say anything, he adds, “At any time. Ever.”</p>
<p>The silence in Cafe Leblanc swells thick. At the same time, it turns very brittle.</p>
<p>“Listen. Akira—”</p>
<p>Behind both of them rumbles a strange, familiar sound.</p>
<p>Then, Yusuke says, “Ah,” and immediately, like a lightbulb has been flipped on, Ryuji knows exactly what that sound was and why.</p>
<p>Ryuji rounds on him. “What are you doin’ bein’ hungry for?”</p>
<p>“Well, it <em> is </em>past midnight.”</p>
<p>“Wh—” Ryuji’s voice pitches oddly. “How’s that supposed to explain shit? What, do you normally stuff your face full of food at this hour?”</p>
<p>“No.” Yusuke’s mouth pinches indignantly.</p>
<p>“Then why are you—”</p>
<p>Akira chuckles. </p>
<p>Ryuji freezes. The relief that fills him is bittersweet.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Akira murmurs and waves a hand at them. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll heat up some leftover curry we’ve got and feed you both. Might as well make your trip here worth it, right?” </p>
<p>Ryuji and Yusuke share a look as he turns away. It might be the first time the same thought has ever crossed both of their minds:  worry and concern at the implication that coming all this way to Leblanc just for Akira wouldn’t have been as ‘worth it’ as a plateful of food.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Akira, Yusuke knows, is very good at shrugging.</p>
<p>He shrugs off anything and everything, from his black school jacket to the bits and pieces of stone rubble that sometimes get knocked onto him from a Palace wall while they are in the midst of a fight. He has so mastered this art, in fact, that he applies it to everything else in his life: even those things which are incorporeal. Intangible.</p>
<p>Akira, earlier this day—yesterday, if he were to be particular—shrugged off death.</p>
<p>It is not a feat one <em>normally </em>shrugs off, so it seems Yusuke must be forgiven for one more thing in addition to the plateful of curry Akira slides across the counter to him: for staring too long at the thin slope of those familiar shoulders. Today, like they did yesterday, like they so often do every day, they are bearing so much. </p>
<p>“Yusuke?” Akira murmurs. “You all right?”</p>
<p>Yusuke nods and bows his head over his food. “Yes. Better now that I am well fed. Thank you.”</p>
<p>Akira nods and plates Ryuji’s portion and then a share for himself. He rounds the bar and perches on a stool between them. For a moment, there is companionable silence. They eat and they relax and enjoy the quiet and the solemnitude that comes with a shared hour during which the rest of the world slumbers. After a few minutes, Akira grabs the remote from the other side of the bar and turns on the little TV in the corner and then, at last, with that background noise, Yusuke feels the ambiance some part of him was waiting for is complete.</p>
<p>“Think they’ll put it on the news?” Ryuji asks around a mouthful of rice as the late-night news hour runs its report.</p>
<p>Yusuke casts a bewildered glance to the back of his bleached-blonde hair. </p>
<p>Akira shakes his head. “Sojiro said they wouldn’t. If they did, that would mean the police and media would have to admit the Phantom Thieves are real.”</p>
<p>“And not only that,” Ryuji says and spins around on his stool with a too-wide grin. He raises his fork in the air. “But the Phantom Thieves are <em>students, too. </em>Damn. The world would go crazy, don’tcha think? The police murderin’ a teenager in a basement just because he’s the ringleader of a bunch of elusive—”</p>
<p>Yusuke catches a glimpse of Akira’s bowed head and that’s all he needs to quickly jerk his head, mouth firm.</p>
<p>Ryuji stops mid-sentence.</p>
<p>Akira looks up. “What?”</p>
<p>“It’s fine.” Ryuji shakes his head and hunches his shoulders over his plate, boxing his elbows around it as if hiding a test answer sheet from view. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry I brought it up.”</p>
<p>“I don’t…what are you sorry about?”</p>
<p>“The whole—” Yusuke tries to send Ryuji another frowning look, bending forward this time to be seen in front of Akira’s thick head of black hair, but Ryuji, the fool, isn’t even <em>looking </em>at him. Preposterous. (He should be always looking at him, some small part of him thinks, but he has become good at ignoring that voice.) He grabs his phone instead. “—murdering a teenager in a basement. That was kinda—”</p>
<p>“—that was <em>crass </em>is what that was,” Yusuke says because apparently his fingers are too slow to text. He leaves the half-typed message on the screen as he sets his phone over the countertop.</p>
<p>“Mm.”      </p>
<p>Akira makes no move to argue against that and slowly, idly, uses his fork to swirl circles in red curry sauce. </p>
<p>“Akira?” Ryuji calls.</p>
<p>He doesn’t answer. </p>
<p>Ryuji and Yusuke share another look over his head. It is that calm, cool, unaffected behavior again—another mask—another coat—another lock and key and cell, where somewhere deep in the center of him, the grief and struggle are tightly bound and withheld.</p>
<p>Ryuji is the first to speak, sighing. “Wish you’d talk to us, man.”</p>
<p>“I <em> am </em>talking to you.”</p>
<p>“No, like, for <em>real </em>talking to us. Not just sitting with us and eating curry with us at the ass-crack of midnight because you think that’ll help. Actually letting us <em> in</em>.”</p>
<p>“You say that as if you don’t think this <em> is </em>helping me.”</p>
<p>“It—” Ryuji’s head snaps to Akira, both eyebrows lifted.</p>
<p>Yusuke must admit: his brows are high on his head, too. “—is?” </p>
<p>And again and like he so often does, Akira shrugs. “Yeah,” he rasps and his voice is caught and thick. With his bowed head and those large glasses, his face is difficult to see, but perhaps that’s the way Akia prefers it: hidden. He taps the ridge of the fork’s upper curve into the plate once, twice. “Yeah. I mean, don’t…mistake my not talking about it…because I don’t <em> want </em>to, guys.”</p>
<p>It must be monumental, Yusuke thinks, to squeeze those words beyond such a swollen, tight throat. </p>
<p>Akira’s voice as he talks sounds like he can barely speak at all. </p>
<p>He breathes in, shaky and jagged and shy, and clears his throat. “Because the truth is…I’m actually really, really glad you guys came—”</p>
<p>And with that—his shoulders bunch—his fork clatters against the rim of his plate—flecks of curry sauce sprinkle across the polished wood—and Akira pushes the side of his hand against his nose as the first sob chokes free. </p>
<p>Ryuji and Yusuke freeze. </p>
<p>As one, they pull forward.</p>
<p>“Akira,” Ryuji says tight and sad and wraps both arms around Akira’s middle, setting his cheek against his shoulder. His fingers dig into the cotton of his shirt edge, and as Akira shakes, he squeezes tighter with his entire body.</p>
<p>Yusuke sighs his name, too, like a prayer.</p>
<p>He slips one hand over Akira’s back, between the wingspan of his shoulder blades, and envelopes those shoulders—those thin, boxy shoulders—which are so, so very good at their task—and holds them. He presses the side of his head against Akira’s. Their two different hues of black hair blend together as their ears brush. He can feel the sharp press of the temple tips of Akira’s glasses against the space above his ear. He lets it be.</p>
<p>He would let anything be if only Akira knew that he was safe and that he was loved and that it was <em>okay </em>to be struggling even when their plans <em>worked </em>exactly in the way they wanted them to.</p>
<p>Between them, Akira cries.</p>
<hr/>
<p>At 3:04 am, Ryuji and Yusuke finally give their goodbyes and leave.</p>
<p>At 3:25 am, Akira’s phone lights up with another message. With one arm folded underneath his head and Morgana curled against his back and purring—who he does not believe for one second hasn’t been awake as long as he has—Akira lifts his phone and swipes his thumb across the bottom of the screen.</p>
<p>At first, there is just one message; after two seconds, however, there appears another, side-by-side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>3:25 AM &gt; <em> in case we don’t say it enuff…<br/></em> 3:25 AM &gt; <em> actully eff that, we definitely don’t </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Akira smiles and waits. Sure enough, another pours through.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>3:26 AM &gt; <em> we luv u man. &amp; we’re always down for hugging when u need 1 </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another soft chime, and then a new message, from another dear face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>3:26 AM &gt; <em> Or two. </em>😉</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Akira smiles. He presses his phone over his chest and holds it there for a moment, right above his heart—and wonders if they can feel it, too. If they can tell, even when he can’t find the words to speak at all, just how very much the both of them mean to him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for the request, Lizzie!! &lt;3 &lt;3 this was super fun!! It's been a hot minute since I've written the P5 lads, so it was so nice to revisit them for some hurt/comfort post-interrogation &lt;3 &lt;3 </p>
<p>if you want to request your own fic, check out my pinned tweet!</p>
<p><a href="https://twitter.com/kissykrissey">tw</a> / <a href="https://krisseycrystal.tumblr.com/">tblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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